


The Hybrid

by amclove



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-28 19:29:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11424630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amclove/pseuds/amclove
Summary: Sam and Dean come face to face with a new threat. They believe they have it all figured out, but it's never as simple as all that for the Winchesters, is it? [Unseen Episode Idea set s2-s3]





	1. Dead Man's Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Supernatural or anything pertaining to it; only my writing. I do not own anything recognizable. All rights go to their respective owners. I posted this on FF as well a while ago, but figured I could post it here too.  
> A/N: This is an original idea I had after a two-month period of watching Supernatural. It’s an episode I wrote set in season 2, so you can tell I’ve been working on it for a while lol So welcome, thanks for reading, and enjoy :)

 

**Previously on Supernatural:**

_…We’re not exactly the Bradys…_

_…I don’t know; it was like he was downloading your thoughts and memories…_

_…Daddy dearest isn’t here…_

_…They need fresh human blood to survive…_

_…Direct sunlight hurts like a nasty sunburn. The only way to kill 'em is by beheading…_

_…Last time we saw you, you said it was too dangerous for us to be together…_

_…Dead bodies all washed up later in the bay, too deteriorated to draw firm conclusions…_

_…No hearts…_

 

**Duluth, Minnesota**

**Four days ago**

     The house was silent, nothing out of the ordinary considering the time was so late in the night. The woman was watching the cooking channel but dozing off, and decided that she would be better off going upstairs for the night. As she stood and flicked off the set she thought she heard a whoosh of air, and looked behind her, to the side. Nothing. How strange. She continued on her way and climbed the staircase, then entered her bedroom. Her husband was in the TV room; she could hear the news on its loop. She entered her bathroom to brush her teeth, and, spitting once, she called her husband’s name. When no response came back to her, she repeated, “Scott, come to bed!”

     Shoving away worry the woman left for the television room. “Scott, honey?” Upon stopping outside the door, she saw. Scott was torn apart, his limbs scattered around the room in no particular order. And the strangest thing of all was that there was no _blood_. The parts were white as sheets.

     Unaware that she had been screaming but sure that if she didn’t get away she would faint, the woman spun around to run, to call someone, but seemed to hit a brick wall. What sort of wall had _hands_? Gleaming teeth overtook her vision as she screamed once more.

 

**_Supernatural_ **

**“The Hybrid”**

 

**Present**

**North Carolina**

     “You seen this yet?” Dean dropped a newspaper in front of his brother. They’d been having breakfast at a Tim Hortons when Dean had gotten up to use the bathroom. To do so he’d had to pass a paper stand and, leaving a couple bucks, took one for that day on his way back to their table.

     Sam looked up at Dean and shook his head. “We have another gig or what?”

     Dean shrugged, crossing his arms. He jutted his chin at the paper on the table. “See for yourself.” Sam sighed and took it, scanning the page. _Found Dead in Home_ , it read.

_Scott Reed, 50, was found torn apart in his_

_home last Saturday, drained of blood;_

_his wife, Clarissa Reed, 48, unconscious._

_Police do not know what to make of this_

_strange event, as Chief Sergeant Samuel_

_Cooper told reporters, “We’ve never seen_

_anything like this before now. It’s completely_

_new territory, but we will do whatever we can to_

_conquer it.”_

     When Sam turned his eyes back up to his brother he saw Dean was shaking his head. “Isn’t that the biggest load of crap you’ve ever heard? That has to be supernatural, right? Torn apart?”

     Sam tilted his head as he scanned the page, giving a nod. “Says the body was drained of blood. And it didn’t say _cut_ apart which makes me think that the guy was torn to pieces just for _kicks_.”

     Dean sat down and sipped his coffee. “Exactly. What we need is to check out this corpse.”

     “But where’re we headed?”

 

**Duluth, Minnesota**

**The Reed House**

     “Gotta love having suits handy…” Dean murmured, locking the Impala. The property was occupied by only a few police officers that afternoon, whom of which were scattered around, speaking in low tones to each other and into their walkie-talkies.

     “What d’you think they’ve got?” Sam quietly asked Dean, who shrugged as he glanced around.

     “Can’t be sure,” he said. “Probably just pinned it on a sicko who gets his jollies from tearing people apart. Come on.” Sam, a step behind Dean, approached a couple of officers and, as they’d done so many times before, flashed their badges.

     “U.S. Marshals Walsh and Hope,” Sam announced. “Sent to check this place out.” The policemen turned to face the boys and checked them out. “Go on in,” one said. Sam nodded at him and gestured at Dean to follow, who also nodded at the men as he passed.

     “These guys are too easy…” he mumbled as they entered the house through the front door. The home was spacious, they could tell, as they stood in the foyer. It also appeared to be suspiciously untouched.

     “You’d think whatever monster killed Reed would’ve rampage this place,” Sam said, quieting his voice as a cop headed out the door behind them.

     Dean nodded as he looked around, walking into the living room. “Wanna check upstairs?” His brother nodded and from the living room made their way, slowly, up the stairs. After a quick glance around at the top of the staircase, Dean pulled the E.M.F. from his suit jacket to get a read.

     “Anything?” Sam asked.

     Shaking his head Dean ducked it into the room closest to him. “Nope. Nothin’. You?”

     “Same. That’s the place though,” Sam said, referring to the room Dean had just looked into. The doorway was guarded by tape.

     “Yup. But there’s nothing in there,” Dean told him. “The police sweeped everything. Spotless. You don’t think there’s any stray hair, do you?”

     “Doubt it. Most of the furniture is gone. And even if there were we already know what killed those people. All we’ve gotta do is trap it—”

     Dean held up a hand, using the other to stuff the E.M.F. away. “You hear that?”

     Sam listened for a moment and shook his head. “I hear two women talking. What about it?”

     “It’s not just two women, _Sam_.” Just then, the women exited the bedroom just behind Sam. Dean didn’t appear surprised, as he had figured it out seconds ago, but Sam had to glance down to hide his shock. “You,” Dean shared a brief look with his brother, “must be Clarissa Reed.” The woman beside Jo nodded. She had graying blonde hair tied back in a bun and green eyes that shone wetly.

     “Yes, I am,” she said. “You are?”

     “Oh, we’re U.S. Marshals,” Dean informed her. “I’m David and that’s my buddy Shep. We thought we’d come and scope the place out.” He eyed Jo sharply, briefly enough that Clarissa took no notice.

     “The local police have been here for days,” she said, her eyebrows drawing together.

     “And I interviewed her for the tribune,” Jo spoke up, appearing proud of herself.

     Dean, ignoring her, laughed awkwardly. “Right. Well, doesn’t hurt to be positive they’ve done their job well, does it?” Sam nudged him, a fake smile pasted to his lips as Dean glared at him. Looking back to Clarissa, Sam’s expression turned to one of sympathy.

     “Mrs. Reed—”

     “Please, call me Clarissa,” she put in.

     “Clarissa, then. I know all of this is rather inconvenient timing, but we’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

     Clarissa looked to Jo. “Was that all, hon’?” she asked her.

     Jo’s eyes went to the boys and then to Clarissa as she struggled for an excuse to stay.

“Um, I guess so,” she said. “Thank you, Mrs. Reed. Take care.” Passing the brothers Jo smiled mock sweetly, Dean back at her just as intensely.

     “Now, I’ve left the couch in my bedroom; I think I might sit down again before we start,” Clarissa told the boys. They nodded and followed her. Clarissa sat and Sam did as well, with his hands folded, while Dean remained standing and allowed his eyes to scan the room for anything strange.

     Pressing his lips together, Sam began, “So, Saturday night. Do you remember anything?”

     “I’m not too sure, I was so frightened. I must have been hallucinating,” she said.

     “What happened?” Sam asked. Leaning down in the slightest, Dean listened intently.

     “Well, I was getting ready to go to bed. I called for Scott to come but he didn’t respond, and the television was still on when I went to the den to see if he’d fallen asleep. But, when I got there I saw—” Mrs. Reed covered her mouth with one hand, her eyes filling.

     “What did you see?”

     Sam widened his eyes at his unempathetic brother, a look that hissed _Shut it_ , before he looked back to Clarissa.

     “I–I saw... his body had been— _dismembered_. His–his arms, legs, everything,” Mrs. Reed said, gaze haunted. “And the most terrifying thing was that for all that, there wasn’t even any blood, anywhere!” Dean nodded, glancing out the window. That’s what the article had mentioned. They needed more than that.

     “And afterwards?” he questioned.

     “I was going to run and call the police, an ambulance or–or something, I don’t know. But then this–this thing appeared in my way, like a–a boulder. I didn’t know what it was and when it opened its mouth it had these _teeth_ —”

     Interesting. At this development, Dean stood up straight. Sam, his curiosity also piqued, echoed, “Teeth? What sort of teeth?”

     “I told you I must’ve been seeing things. They were…” She breathed out. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they were an animal’s teeth.” Sam and Dean met eyes and the latter tilted his head to the door.

     “And that’s all you remember?” Sam ignored him.

     “Well, there were ropes too, on the floor by the chair. But I must’ve blacked out. I woke up at the hospital. I–I don’t know why the attacker didn’t kill me like it did Scott.”  She twisted her hands in her lap and Sam resisted the urge to comfort her by holding one of them in his.

     “We’re all relieved he didn’t, ma’am. Now will you be sleeping here tonight, or have you been staying with a friend until the move?”

     “I’m staying with my mother,” Clarissa told him.

     “Good, best to be safe,” Dean put in with a smile. “Now, ma’am, we’re very sorry to leave so suddenly but we’ve gotta get back to, uh, headquarters—”

     “Yes; of course. Go on. Thank you for coming by. Do I need to walk you out?” They shook their heads and exchanged their goodbyes, heading out the doorway. At the foot of the stairs, Sam said, leaning in, “What is this thing, Dean? What sort of monster drains victims and tears them apart?”

     “A sadistic vampire?” his brother suggested.

     “They’re all sadistic and none of them have ever done this before. They drain or turn, simple as that.” Sam pushed out a breath and pulled at his collar. “How do you think we kill whatever it is?”

     “Hold on a minute, Sam. You keep sayin’ ‘it,’ but what if there’s a group of those whatever-they-ares? We can’t just show up and take them on, alright; we need a plan.”

     “Since when?” Dean rolled his eyes and Sam continued, “Okay, look, Dean, after we research we’ll bring every weapon that could possibly kill them and we _will_.”

     “Since when have I become the responsible one in this operation?” Dean muttered, walking by Sam and heading back down the stairs. Jo was waiting, leaning against the frame of the door.

     “What the hell do you guys think you’re doing here?” she snapped at them as they walked out into the sunshine.

     “Oh, we _think_ that we’re going to kill these monsters, sweetheart,” Dean replied.

     “Why do you think _I’m_ here?” she retorted. “My bar is a couple blocks away; I’ve been here for _days_ scouting this place out!”

     “Good work. Now step back and leave this to the professionals, before you get hurt.”

     “Dean,” Sam tried.

     Dean paid him no mind. “I mean it, Jo. Your mom’ll have our asses if you have so much as a scratch on you.”

     “Then I guess it’s a good thing you aren’t responsible for me,” she tossed back over her shoulder as she headed for her truck. The boys watched her go and Dean kicked the ground.

     “Why does she show up everywhere we go?” he demanded. “And how could we forget her bar is in town?”

     “Dean, relax. Maybe she’ll be helpful.”

     Dean shook his head as he climbed into the Impala. “Yeah, right. I just can’t wait to get outta this monkey suit.”

     Sam smirked as he buckled up. “Don’t get too excited, ape boy. Can’t change yet.”

 

 

     “But this time, you get to touch the body,” Sam told him. Dean rolled his eyes as he pushed open the correct door of the morgue. He pulled one case open and Sam assisted in lifting out the container for the head, along with the other parts. “Ready?” he asked.

     Dean pursed his lips. “As I’ll ever be,” he replied grimly. Sam nodded and, lifting his eyebrows, pulled the lid off the box holding Scott Reed’s head.

     Brows furrowed, Dean leaned towards it, and Sam wrinkled his nose. His brother stopped and looked at him. “Shut it, Sam. We have to do this.” He examined the inside of Reed’s mouth. “No retractable fangs,” he stated. While he did this, Sam looked at the arms. They were scratched, and as the report had assured, there was no blood to be seen.

     “Look like claw scratches, and the heart’s gone,” Sam told Dean, who looked over.

     “Werewolf?” he suggested.

     Sam shook his head, pressing his lips together as he studied. “But they don’t drink blood. What else could it be?”

     “What drinks blood besides a vampire?” Dean asked.

     “Nothing, not like this. The blood is _gone_ , Dean. Not a trace. We haven’t ever seen anything like this; body ripped to shreds, bloodless limbs. Heart’s missing… Can it be something we’ve never hunted before?”

     Dean shrugged. “Could be. We haven’t been alive forever, Sammy. So it shreds like a werewolf, heart is obviously gone. Drains like a vampire, so… what? It’s some sort of—hybrid?”

     Sam’s eyes shot up to his brother’s and he stood up straight. “Exactly! Come on, help me put these back,” he said. “We’ve gotta get dad’s journal.”

 

 

     “Anything?” Dean inquired, entering the motel room. They’d changed out of their suits and while Sam worked, Dean showered and went for coffees. He set one next to his brother and sat on the bed behind him, eyeing the book in Sam’s hands.”

     “Yeah, I think so. Dad’s journal mentions something called a Vaewolf. What it says in the book makes me think of the whole Greek God deal, where they’d shift forms to appear to the wife as her lover,” Sam said. “The Shapeshifters impregnate the werewolf—”

     “What, Shapeshifters can’t use protection now?” Dean’s grin slipped at Sam’s eye roll.

     “ _And_ ,” he continued pointedly, “its offspring would be a Shapeshifter _and_ a werewolf.”

     Dean nodded, his arms crossed. “Okay, fine, and they’re vampires because…?”

     “Because then they call in a female Shapeshifter. After waiting until the hybrid is grown, she goes and sleeps with him. It’s a backwards reaction, because since she isn’t really a vampire, only appearing as one, you wouldn’t think she could become pregnant with a hybrid baby. But against all laws of twisted monster nature, she does. Pregnant with not only a shifter baby but one that’s also werewolf and vampire. The werewolf quarter supplies the ‘human’ part too,” Sam concluded, air quotes present around _human_.

     “And we have an up-and-coming race of hybrids to take down,” Dean interpreted.

     Sam nodded as he rubbed his chin, eyes trained on the page. “Pretty much, yeah,” he agreed. “And to complicate this further, they don’t _have_ to turn on the full moon, only whenever they want to.”

     Dean scoffed. “Oh, perfect. Immortal?”

     “Yup.” Sam shoved his hand through his hair, blowing his lips out.

     “Alright. How do we kill these bastards?”

     “It says here that they may have the weaknesses of the parent species, which could mean anything, and that they’re otherwise virtually indestructible.”

     “Werewolves can’t survive being torn to pieces, right? I say we shoot ’em in the heart, chop off the heads with silver knives, rip ’em up and burn the remains. Just to be safe. Or, fail-safe: wood-chipper the sons of bitches.”

     “Yeah,” Sam said, closing the book and standing. “Fortunately for us silver kills werewolves and Shapeshifters both.”

     Dean slapped his thighs as he pushed off the comforter. “Lucky us. And if we’ve got some luck now, that means sooner or later we’re gonna be very, very screwed.”


	2. Something Wicked

     The house was surrounded by zigzagging crime scene tape, more than earlier, of which the boys ducked under after thoroughly checking the grounds for cameras. Dean picked the front door lock and swung the door open while Sam, behind him, was ready with his gun. His brother followed suit as they entered the dark foyer. Both wore gloves as not to leave any fingerprints.

     “You think they’re here?” whispered Sam.

     “They’ll wanna finish the job.” Dean took out the E.M.F. and grimaced as it beeped. “Maybe we should attach ear-buds to this thing.” After another second had passed, Dean asked aloud, “Where would they be? I’m surprised they didn’t just kill everyone during the day.”

     “They may be part animal, but they aren’t stupid. They have all the cunning of three monsters and a human.”

     Dean snorted. “Could’ve just said four monsters.” Sam gave him a look and Dean rolled his eyes.

     “What? Look, you think the cops’ve got cameras set up in here?”

     Sam nodded. “It would make sense, if they thought that thing—or, in their case, the killer—would come back, and it did. You think it’s been coming every night?”

     “You know vampires, man, they’ve got your scent it’s for life.”

     “But they could’ve tracked Clarissa to her mom’s house,” Sam pointed out.

     “Hey, I’m not saying it makes sense, Sam. Let’s just hope they won’t, alright? Now come on, we’ve gotta check this out.”

     Sam, reluctantly, nodded. “Clarissa said ropes, right? You think it’s the same idea the Shifter in Missouri had, tying victims up to torture them?”

     Dean nodded, his expression one of thinking. “And this torturing method is draining their blood before tearing them to shreds. Makes sense.”

     “None of this makes sense,” Sam muttered. “Come on, let’s check out the upstairs.”

     The boys did so slowly, brandishing their guns as they climbed. The E.M.F. was going off like crazy when they heard muffled screams. They glanced at each other before continuing down the hallway. The boys hadn’t expected to find a live person, though always a possibility what with stupid kids wanting to find a ghost. They went into the room farthest down the hallway and, cautiously, entered.

     “Clarissa?” Sam said in surprise. It was Clarissa Reed, wrists bound to the arms of a wooden chair, ankles to the feet of it. Her blonde hair was in bloodied tangles, as were her face and arms. Bite marks were visible, much like they were on her husband’s body parts. The boys shared another look, Sam stepping forward.

     “Hold it, Sammy,” ordered Dean. “You don’t think this could possibly be a _trap_?”

     “There aren’t any trip wires, Dean. Look, I think they’ve left, but they’ll definitely come back.”

     Dean bit his lip in frustration. “I get it, Sam, they don’t do a job half-ass, but this—”

     “We have to get her out of here before they finish it,” Sam said. Under his breath, Dean swore, and then quickly pulled away the gag from Clarissa’s mouth. Immediately she screamed. Dean’s eyes widened and he shushed her.

     “Are you trying to get us killed?” he hissed.

     “They–they’re going to come back for me!” Clarissa managed to whimper.

     “What—? Why’re you even here?” Dean demanded.

     “I left my Bible in the drawer—I–I just needed it with me—”

     Sam shook his head. “Dean, we have to get her out.” Dean was forced to agree. They untied her and helped her to standing as she muttered incoherently. “Hold on,” Sam said. Dean froze with Clarissa in his arms. Sam held up a hand. “Growling,” he mouthed. Dean nodded, eyes wide. “Leave her. We’ve gotta draw them away,” Sam told him. They set her back in the chair and held their guns steady, exiting the room.

     The hallway was narrow, with bedrooms on either side. The boys, back to back, moved past them silently, ready to jump into action. Suddenly, screaming erupted from the lower level of the house. They broke into a run just as more shouts came from the other bedrooms.

     “They’re Shapeshifting, trying to draw us out and split us up,” Sam panted. “There’s no one here but us and Clarissa!”

     “What’re we supposed to do?”

     “I don’t know!” Sam snapped, agitated. “I don’t know.”

     The front door was only some 50 feet away.

     “If we leave—” Dean began.

     “Clarissa’s dead,” Sam finished, clenching his fist, along with the fingers he had wrapped white around the gun.

     “Call the cops and they’re all dead,” Dean said. “We’ve got no choice, man. We have to get out of here so we can regroup and come up with a better plan than just jumping in. It sure as hell isn’t working this time.” Sam closed his eyes and nodded. Dean tightly pressed his lips together and slapped his shoulder, pushing him towards the door.

 

 

     Sam was sitting up in his motel bed, knees up and crossed arms resting on them. It was nearing one in the morning. “We just sentenced a woman to her death,” he said as his brother exited the bathroom in a towel. He grabbed his clothes and sighed.

     “Look, Sammy, I get it, alright? She sure as hell didn’t deserve to die but what were we supposed to do?”

     “Go back up there and save her. The family business,” Sam retorted, sarcastic.

     “No, Sam. If we’d done that we’d’ve been killed too. We’re no use to this shit world dead. Come on, man. You gotta know that.” Sam wouldn’t meet his gaze, cheek on his arm, and Dean closed his mouth. After eyeing his brother for another moment, he turned and reentered the bathroom.

     Sam remained silent and after a few more seconds, he stood. He went over to the desk and picked up his cell phone before stepping outside. Speed dial three.

     “Hey. I know it’s late but… how soon can you be in Duluth, Minnesota?”


	3. All in the Family

     “I’m glad you boys called,” Bobby said as he loaded his rifle late that same morning.

     “We’re just happy you could come,” Sam told him, and Dean nodded.

     “And you told me everything you know before?” Bobby checked.

     “Yeah, that’s it,” said Sam. “We’ve got a bunch of silver and we’re just waiting to kill these things.”

     “We goin’ tonight?”

     “Well, yeah, unless you don’t think it’s a good idea.”

     “I don’t know about that, but I do think they’d have the advantage. They’ll prob’ly be waitin’ for you anyway; might as well get ’em in daylight.”

     Sam considered this and nodded, glancing beside himself at Dean. “Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense. But d’you think the cops have gotten there yet?” He swallowed, glancing down. “Seen Clarissa?”

     “Honestly, boys, we don’t know what those things did to that woman. For all we know, she could’ve been turned, taken somewhere,” Bobby said. “The cops might not have anything to find in there.”

     “So, you’re also saying that those things could be gone too?” Dean questioned.

     “It’s a possibility, but we all know how those things get. Vengeance and all that.”

     “But we didn’t even do anything to them!” Dean made a noise of annoyance. “What with our shitty luck…”

     Bobby adjusted his hat. “Look, all we can do is hope that the sun offers us the lead against those hybrids.” Just then, a truck pulled up to the motel, emitting a groan from Dean. Sam looked at Bobby.

     “It’s Jo,” he said.

     Bobby nodded. “Why is that one makin’ such a fuss?” he asked, jutting his head at Dean.

     “I’m not making a fuss,” Dean dismissed. “She just shows up in places where worry is the last thing I need. We need.”

     Jo jumped out of her truck and approached Bobby and the boys. Her blonde waves tumbled down her back, longer than Dean remembered, and he nearly kicked himself for being so aware of her when the biggest issue right now was staying alive. As usual.

     “So. What’s the plan?” she inquired.

     “How’d you even know we’re here?” Dean countered.

     “I followed you,” she replied, without any remorse. “I also managed to get into the morgue. I’m guessing you figured out what we’re dealing with here?”

     “Have you?” was all Dean could think to retort.

     “Telling by the vampire bite marks and the body being completely ripped apart, I guessed it was a Vaewolf,” Jo told him. When Dean lost his pompous expression and glanced away to clear his throat, she smirked. “Looks like I’ll be going with you guys. You don’t mind, right, Bobby? Sam?” They shook their heads, smiling awkwardly.

     “Jo, you can’t come. It isn’t practical and you know it,” said Dean. “We have to kill these things, watch out for ourselves, and you?”

     Jo shrugged. “No one said you had to watch out for me, Dean.”

     “Uh, yeah, someone did. Your _mother_. Who I’m sure has no idea where you are or what you’re doing right now.”

     “That’s the point. I’m going, end of story.” Dean glared at her and slammed the door of the Impala once he was inside.

     Jo smiled. “Perfect. This’ll be fun. And I even brought my own set of daggers.”

 

 

     Bobby rode in his pick-up, Jo in her own, and the brothers in their ’67, all the vehicles lined up against the sidewalk. The Reed lot was empty of any other cars. The police hadn’t shown up, or had already left—though that would be doubtful if something _had_ happened. Sam and Dean exchanged curious glances. Did that mean Clarissa was (relatively) okay? They didn’t dwell too much on this thought as Dean opened the trunk to retrieve their weapons: guns with silver bullets and the machetes. Jo had her own gun slung across her back, a dagger in a sheath at her hip. She eyed the boys and then Bobby as he approached.

     “So d’you have a plan?” she asked.

     Dean brought down the top of the trunk with a slam. “Get in there and chop their heads off, after we of course get a few good rounds into their hearts. But that’s just for fun,” he replied with a sarcastic smile.

     “So, no strategy then? Did you want to die today?”

     “Okay, guys, look,” Sam interrupted. He turned to Jo. “That _is_ the strategy. Coming here early, taking them by surprise. As it is, they could be hidden in the bushes, waiting for us to start moving.”

     Bobby nodded, his rifle in hand. “He’s right. So you two stop your bickerin’ and get goin’. We’re burnin’ daylight.” Dean, irked that he’d been reprimanded, gave Jo one last look before walking past her to meet up with his brother. He shook his head, ready to complain, when Sam said, “I really don’t get it with you two.”

     Dean turned his head to look at Sam, his eyes squinted, partly because of the sun rays and another part incredulity. “What?”

     “You’re always arguing. It’s pointless,” Sam told him.

     “Oh, really, college boy?” Dean replied.

     “Hey, don’t get all defensive here, Dean.” Jo and Bobby moved past and Sam quieted his voice. “I’m not trying to piss you off,” he said. “You guys are just so similar—”

     “What? Since when?” Dean demanded.

     Sam almost laughed, a small smile pulling open his lips. “Since always. Hard-headed, don’t listen to anyone but yourself and what you think is right or what you wanna do…”

     Was he right? It wasn’t actually possible, was it? But Dean guessed it did make some sort of sense; after all, he and Jo butted heads whenever they found themselves in the same vicinity. And Sam and John always fought because of the same quality—their unrelenting stubbornness.

     “We don’t have time for this,” Dean muttered, picking up his pace and reaching the porch. Sam shook his head and followed, Jo and Bobby already at the door.

     “So what’s the plan when we get in there? Divide and conquer?” Jo asked the group. “Because I certainly am not planning on bursting in there, guns blazing half-ass.” Dean raised his eyebrows. Maybe she was more like him than he’d thought.

     “Bobby and I’ll take the upstairs, you and Dean the basement,” Sam decided.

     “You actually wanna split up?” Dean’s expression was clearly one of unconvinced disbelief and Sam shook his head, swiping his tongue briefly across his lip.

     “Dean, we _have_ to split up,” he said. “We don’t know how many of those things there are. Showing up in one spot is gonna screw us.”

     “Well at least we’d be together,” Dean rejoined. “It’s not like any of are in the dark regarding what happens to the Scooby gang when things go sideways and why.”

     “Come on, Dean, don’t be stupid! You know this is our best bet to get these things.”

     His brother threw up his hands in exasperated surrender. “You know what? Fine. Be my guest.” He turned his back to the three and bent over the doorknob to pick the lock. After a few seconds it twisted. “Bingo,” he said. He looked back at Jo and she said, after a glance to him, “By all means, princess. Ladies first.” Dean rolled his eyes and slowly pushed open the door, gun at the ready. He listened, hard, and heard nothing. He gestured with his chin at the others to enter.

     After the brothers shared a nod, Sam and Bobby made their way to the staircase to the next floor. The house was silent, but in all their years Dean and Sam knew not to take this as anything reassuring. Sam knew the Vaewolves had to be there; scanning the joint with the E.M.F. would just waste time. Beside Bobby, now on the landing, and despite what Dean would say if he knew, he prayed to God for all their safety. He swallowed.

     The other hunters made their way into the lower level of the house, neither uttering a word to the other. Jo’s eyes strayed to Dean once, and then she silently scolded herself. They were on a hunt, for God’s sake; it so wasn’t the time. _Wrong place; wrong time…_ Jo shook her head, as though the action would shake the memories, the thoughts from her mind.

     Dean didn’t notice any of this, lost in his own head while he simultaneously looked out for the two of them. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Jo; he did, as one of the few people in his life he could truly count on. It was just… She was _Jo_. She shouldn’t even be there, doing what they do, putting herself in harm’s way. But she was stubborn and did it in her father’s memory. He hated those petulant little voices in his head that snickered at him, telling him she did it, that she put herself in danger, to be with him. Until he, inevitably disappeared for another month, a year… Dean couldn’t think about that. He had to focus. He had a job to do, bitches to kill.

     He looked at Jo just as she turned her attention to him. She raised her eyebrows and he shook his head. No action that he could tell.

     Sam paused. What was that? He and Bobby shared a look. The sound was coming from Clarissa’s old bedroom. They’d made it down the hall with nothing, and were forced, then, to turn around. Halfway back down the hallway, they again heard something.

     “Did you hear that?” Jo muttered under her breath. The basement smelled musty and Dean thought back to when he’d been electrocuted and put on his death bed. Lips pressed tight, Dean pushed this away and said, “Came from upstairs. Let’s go.”

     “One of us has to stay down here.” 

     “We can come back!” Dean told her.  

     “If we let it get away it could be too late to come back!” she insisted.

     “Jo.” She stared back at him, unflinching. The pair stood on the stairs, Dean close to the floor with Jo standing above him by a step. They were close together, inches apart. He could tell she was scared, but jittering with nervous excitement. The way he’d become on hunts after the first few times. “Go upstairs,” he ordered after a moment.

     “What?” She couldn’t believe her ears.

     “Go upstairs, Jo,” he repeated, no empathy in his tone. “I’ll check this out and be up soon as I can; got it?”

     “Dean, no; you can’t—”

     “Like hell I can’t. That wasn’t a request. Go. Now.” He was unfaltering, and she knew going past him would get her absolutely nowhere and waste time they didn’t have. She glared at him, red-faced, and headed back up the creaky stairs. “Damn it,” he swore to himself, at himself. If anything happened to that girl…

     Sam and Bobby cautiously approached the door to the bedroom; Bobby prodded it open with his rifle. They glanced at one another and Sam nodded, poking his head into the room. It was empty, the window blinds drawn down and the carpet stained with colors Sam couldn’t give names to in the darkness. Ropes littered the floor, pieces of the chair Mrs. Reed had been bound to scattered here and there. Or, at least, Sam hoped they were wood scraps. A separate room was in the corner, a bathroom, somehow even darker than the room they were currently in. He nodded toward it.

     “I’ll check it out,” he told Bobby. “You go on and check out the rest.” Though reluctant to leave Sam, Bobby nodded and headed out.

     Jo, her gun held away from her rigid body, was poised for battle. Her eyes slid across the kitchen and into each room she passed. She thought hunting was like watching a zombie film; you knew it was coming, that it was inevitable, but the build-up to the gory death was almost worse than the death itself. By then… you’re just glad it’s over. She understood the idea that fear could kill you, but she never let it get to her. She didn’t have the time to sit around being afraid, not when she could be saving people, giving her life meaning. Not when working at that family bar of hers kept her stuck, meeting douchebag guys who weren’t good enough to be called even that. No. She didn’t have the time or the capacity to deal with a mundane life. And Dean… despite himself, he was the same, she could tell. And if seeing him once in a blue moon was an outcome of being a hunter, well then… so be it.

     Dean heard noises coming from every direction, and didn’t know which way to aim. The shadows enveloped the creatures like they were one and the same and he couldn’t differentiate. They knew he was there; it wouldn’t be as though shooting and—God forbid—missing would give him away. Maybe he should check on Jo. But if she were in trouble she’d be able to scream at least a little bit, right? He knew she was tough and didn’t like to accept help, but he felt off. He couldn’t quite place it…

     Just then, he felt a fist make contact with his gut, the wind sucked painfully from his lungs. Barely able to stand, Dean spun to find the culprit, his gun aimed anywhere, at anything. He shot at nothing; he knew someone would hear it, at least—then he was smashed to the floor.

     Jo spun from her post at the kitchen counter at the sound of gunshots. She sprinted to the door of the basement, shouting Dean’s name. At the sight of him bursting up the stairs and hurtling through the doorframe, her knees went weak. “Dean!” she repeated, her tone this time one of immense relief. He saw her and he smiled, dragging her into a hug. “Are you okay?” she breathed, ignoring her surprise at the intimate action.

     “Now I am.” He reluctantly stepped away from her and Jo stared at him for a moment longer before saying, “We should head upstairs, see how Sam and Bobby are doin’.” She began to walk towards the living room, but Dean grabbed her arm. She looked back at him, alarmed, and his grip loosened.

     “Sorry, I just… I wanted to talk to you,” he said.

     Jo’s lips parted and her confusion made her stammer soundlessly for a half second before she was able to say, “Are you sure now’s the greatest time, Dean?”

     “There’ll never be a good time, Jo.” His expression was that of his classic smoldering gaze, the one that melted girls’ hearts in seconds flat and to which Jo pretended to be the only exception. “Come on. Give me five minutes.” Jo spared a look at the staircase, the feeling of her resolve cracking nearly tangible. She turned fully to face him, her gun lowering to her belt. Where the hell _were_ those sons of bitches? “Great.” Dean smiled at her, the smile Jo couldn’t help returning.

     “So, what’s up?” she asked him.

     “Jo, the first time we met, I, uh… My dad was gone, and I didn’t feel like I knew how to do anything anymore. Didn’t know how to live. But then, when I met you at the Roadhouse… I knew you were special, Jo. You were beautiful and so brave.” He paused to look into her eyes, taking a step closer. “And I just really need to tell you how I’ve been feeling, so you know. So you can tell me if you feel the same.”

     Jo couldn’t find the words that would allow her to come up with anything in return. Was this real? Was he kidding? Why _now_? Of all the times…

     Sam flipped on his flashlight, holding the gun with one hand. The bathroom was quiet as he glanced around. There was a closet, and just as they went to pull open the door, it swung out to reveal a man with dark hair.

     “Hey, Sammy,” he said.

     Sam’s jaw slackened. “Dad?”

     “Dean, I–I can’t really think of anything to say—” Jo began.

     “I know it’s not the most opportune moment but our lives aren’t exactly…”

     She nodded. “Yeah. I get it; it’s just—Dean, you’re always disappearing. Ditching me like I don’t matter until you need me or my mom or Ash again. I can’t… I can’t deal with whatever it is you’re implying, not with you. It’s just—not the right time.” _Wrong place; wrong time…_

     “Jo, I regret leaving without telling you how I was feeling in Philly,” Dean told her. “I admit, I wasn’t exactly in the best headspace to be with you then but I don’t wanna waste any more time. Don’t you wanna be with me, Jo?”

     Jo’s eyebrows, pulled together, now lifted at his question. She wished she weren’t stuck between Dean and the counter; she had nowhere to go. Trapped. Just like when Sam had cornered her, possessed by a demon.

     “Dean, are you sure you’re okay?” she asked him. “You’re acting kind of strange.”

     “Dad?” Sam managed to say.

     John nodded, a small, sad smile pulling at his lips. “It’s me, bud.”

     Sam allowed this to sink in, and then shook his head. “But you’re—you were dead. We torched your bones, salted them.”

     John shrugged, his silhouette large against the dark background of the empty closet abd a knowing look in his eyes. “Exceptions can be made for us Winchesters.”

     “Really? Cuz it seems to me we’re the family that gets the worst end of the stick, every time.”

     Sam’s father shook his head, glancing away. “I’m sorry, Sam. The way I raised you… it wasn’t right. There is good in the world, believe it or not, and it isn’t avoiding us. It just… doesn’t come around enough, so we don’t want to pay attention to what little we get.” John sounded so much how Sam remembered him, but it was something more. How could he even be here? Who would have helped him in _Hell_?

     “Dad, why’re you here?” Sam asked.

     “I’m here to help you, Sam.”

     Sam brought his eyebrows together. “Help me? Help me what?”

     “Help you have a better life, Sammy. You’re—” John rubbed his chin, as if upset with himself. “You’re supposed to be a _lawyer_ , Sam. You can leave this all behind. I won’t be upset, I promise. I want you to be happy.”

     “But Dean—he needs me. I can’t abandon him. Not again.”

     “Sam, we can all be together. We can be together like we used to be, a family. Happy. Isn’t that what you want?”

      “No,” Sam said with a slow, resolute shake of his head. “No; we were never a happy family. You were always gone. _Dean_ was there for me, _Dean_ put a band-aid on my cuts, gave me the last of his favorite cereal. Not you. You weren’t around enough. And you sure as hell wouldn’t come back to be the Brady Bunch with us now.” Jaw tightened, Sam raised his gun.

      “Jo, I just wanna be with you,” Dean maintained. “Come on. You can’t honestly tell me you don’t have feelings for me.” She didn’t reply. “I can tell when I leave that you want me to stay, Jo. I wanna stay too. I hate leaving you, never knowing when or even if I’ll be back.” She had a strange feeling. Something wasn’t quite right, but when Dean raised his hand to hold her cheek, it was so expressly Dean that she allowed herself to rest against his calloused palm. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, lowering his lips to hers, slowly.

     “Come on, Sam. You can’t kill me. Not really.” The Vaewolf was leaning against the doorframe of the closet. Now, Sam could see the body of Clarissa on the floor inside. This monster had done that to her.

     “Yes, I can,” Sam seethed.

     “Haven’t we been here before? Your daddy was possessed by a demon—no, not just any demon, but the demon that killed your poor mother. He was begging you, Sammy, begging you to shoot that bullet into his heart and you…” He chuckled. “Well. You couldn’t do it. Stay with us, Sam. We can make you strong—hell, teach you to be virtually soulless. Come to the Dark Side.” He grinned maliciously. “You can’t fight it, Sam. It’s only a matter of time.” Sam bit into his lip, hard enough to draw blood, and the wolf smiled wider. _Shoot him. Shoot him._

     He felt like Dean. Smelled like Dean. But she felt sick. As she went to pull away, a round of gunshots echoed down from the upstairs, dimmed, as if whoever was shooting were in a corner room with no way out.

     “Dean, we have to go,” Jo said, going for her gun.

     “Jo, no, just one second—”

     She spun on him, her eyes wide. “Are you out of your mind, Winchester? That’s Bobby and your brother up there! Let’s _go_!” About to take off, Jo was stopped by the dark sound of Dean’s chuckle behind her. She slowly faced him once more. “Dean,” she said, in a low voice.

     “Jo, Jo, _Jo_. Damn; you are a tough one to crack, huh?” he said, a smile not at all like his own curling his mouth.

     “What’re you talking about?” Jo said, her hand hovering next to her gun.

     “I can see into your head, little girl. You want this guy so much it’s all but killing you. Isn’t that right?”

     “You aren’t Dean.” The stranger tilted his head and squinted at her. “You’re one of them.”


	4. Heart

     Jo backed away and began to run, but the monster had her in no time.

     “Oh, I sure am, sweetheart,” he breathed against her ear. “In all the ways that matter. You know I can see all your boyfriend’s thoughts? He wants you too. Every time he sees you; wham! Like a sticky switch in this poor sucker’s mind; he just can’t put two and two together.”

     Jo bit the hand that he’d slapped over her mouth and it slipped. “And what’s that?” she spat at the imposter. He shook out his hand and grinned. He had healed before she’d had the chance to move even a foot away.

     “He’s in love with you.”

     Dean shoved himself up carefully, roused by gunshots. Nothing seemed to be broken. Maybe a sprain somewhere. But he couldn’t think about that right now; what mattered were the others. Something had just happened—he stopped, hearing muffled screams coming from upstairs. Female. _Jo_. He pushed up off of the floor, scouring the basement for the gun the shifter had thrown, not having a need for it. Dean pulled himself up the steps, trying with effort to be as quiet as possible, under the circumstances.

     When he reached the tiled floor, he could see that, on the opposite side of the bar, Jo and the shifter wearing _his_ face (boy, was he getting sick of that) were at a stand-off. She was glaring at him while he smirked viciously.

     Jo swallowed against her dry throat. “You’re lying,” she said.

     “Am I? I’m in his head, remember? Why would I have to lie to you, Joanna? I already have you right where I want you.” Jo stared hard at the dusty granite bar top. “He thinks about you often: about your hair, how it scares him how much he wishes he could run his hands through it. Your rear is quite dominant in here as well,” the monster said, tapping his temple. “He wants to screw you all the way to Bangkok. But, no, he can’t, right? You have too much respect for _yourself_ to give into him. He respects you too much to pursue you consistently. And yet, you’re both so hot for each other. It’s a sad cycle, Jo. ”

     “Shut up,” she seethed.

     “Why? Stay with us, Jo. I can be Dean for you, if you’d like. I am him, really. Knows what he knows, wants what he wants.” He winked at her and Jo fought down her bile. He was _not_ Dean. She glared at him and he smiled at her, in a twisted, victorious way.

     “Hey, douchebag!” she heard a hoarse voice call. Both she and the monster looked towards the basement door.

     Gunfire rang from the downstairs as Bobby and Sam rushed to drag the Vaewolf’s body out of the bedroom and into the hall. They left it, though, and ran down the steps to get to the area of the shooting. They saw Dean, lying dead on the floor, and Sam’s heart stopped.

     “Sam!” Jo called, sounding weak. He saw her by the door to the basement, kneeling beside an unconscious Dean. He released a heavy breath and, glancing to Bobby, said, “Grab that body upstairs? We… we got this.”


	5. Born Under a Bad Sign

 

**Duluth County Hospital**

     The shifter hadn’t killed him. And whether that was only because it had planned to turn him later or because it could care less, everyone was grateful. Sprained wrist, bruised ribs—bruises all over, really, but Dean was alive. He was resting on the hospital bed the following day, wearing clothing that was much too similar to the last time. The sheets were pulled up to his hips, his head leaning back against his pillow in thought.

     As to be expected, Sam hadn’t left his brother’s side, but a few minutes ago he’d had to in order to get some coffee. The memories from his last visit to a hospital made his stomach twist. Dean had told Sam to go to Bobby’s, get some real rest, but he refused. No point trying to argue, not when Dean was stretched on a hospital bed.

     Honestly, he didn’t even understand why it was necessary. He was fine, but apparently, because of the last accident, they wanted to make sure he hadn’t been further “damaged.” Dean dropped his head to the left, looking out the little window. _How can this be my life? Why did you leave me with all this?_ He wasn’t sure which parent he was speaking to, or if he was even talking to them at all.

     “Hey,” he heard a timid voice say, along with a light knock. He turned and saw Jo standing in the doorway of his room. She had one hand rested against the frame, an unsure expression on her worried, pretty face.

     “Hey. You okay?”

     She hadn’t been able to see him, thoughts of the previous day’s events still rattling through her mind in a shit-storm she didn’t want to think about. “Sure,” she managed. “You?” Her brows were drawn, forehead scrunched, and Dean tried to smile.

     “Hey, come on. Don’t be worried for me; I’ve been through a hell of a lot worse than a few cuts and bruises, believe me.”

     Jo lowered her gaze, nodding. “I know. Just… I’ve never been there for any of it. This is it.”

     He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he didn’t. She came and sat at the foot of the bed, palm flat against the sheets. He watched her. “It was really terrible,” she told him, quietly. Dean, his eyebrows together, looked at her questioningly. “The Shifter, pretending to be you.” Understanding came into his eyes and he pulled them away from Jo.

     “Did you believe it?” he asked her, forcing disinterest into his voice.

     “No,” she said immediately. “At first… I did. But then…”

     Dean moved his poker face back to Jo. “Then what? He was nice to you and you got the hint?” he said.

     Jo looked surprised at his bitter sarcasm. “What? Dean. You aren’t…” She paused. “He just wasn’t you.”

     “How could you know that?” said Dean, eyes back out the window.

     Jo flattened the creases on the blanket, not looking at him. “Because I didn’t feel _safe_. I didn’t feel safe with him like I do with you.”

     Staring at her then, Dean was stuck. Before he could say anything in return, his brother was back with coffee. “Jo,” he said, not having expected to seeing her there. “Did you want a coffee?”

     Jo shook her head and stood. Her hair was pulled back into an elastic, her clothes unchanged. She appeared to be exhausted. Had she slept? Dean wondered, watching her. Utterly lost, Sam glanced between the two.

     “No. I’m good. I should go,” she said. “I have to get to the bar anyway.” She smiled a tight-lipped smile at Sam, briefly looking back to Dean before exiting the hospital room.

     “What was that about?” Sam asked his brother as he sat down in the chair he’d slept in. Dean, for a second, didn’t say a word. Then, he turned his attention from the doorway to his brother and said, “Nothing. All good.”

 

 

     Just for good measure, Dean was held for one more night. The next day, the boys were ready to get back on the road. Bobby, of course, preached that they should stay at his place until Dean fully recovered, (“How d’ya expect to fight monsters with one good hand, ya idjit?”) but Dean, being himself, didn’t believe so. He did thank Bobby for his help, however, and accepted a hug. Next stop: Wyoming.

     In the car once again, Dean inhaled happily. Back where they belonged. “Dean,” his brother spoke.

     Dean started the car and glanced at him. “What?”

     “Are we gonna stop and see Jo before leaving town?”

     Dean looked at him as though he were crazy. “Why would we do that?”

     “So you can talk; I mean, we’re already _here_ —”

     “No, Sam.” That was it.

     Sam pursed his lips. “Dean.”

     “Sam.” This time, a warning.

     “You care about her, Dean, more than you’d like to admit. I can’t say I get it but I do understand that you’re afraid. It’s okay to feel, you know.”

     Dean slammed his good hand against the wheel. “Damn it, Sam! I just don’t—” He laughed, without humor. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

     “Say anything, Dean, cuz pretending you don’t give a shit about anything sure as hell isn’t working!”

     “Anything? Okay; how ’bout this? Have you _seen_ her? Have you even looked at Jo since last night?”

     Sam, his anger mixing with confusion, stared at his brother. “What’re you talking about?”

     “She’s a mess, Sammy, because we went to that God-damn Roadhouse and put ideas in her head! Our life is shit and you know what? I’ve accepted it. I’m over it. But she has her life, Sam, her _life_ , to do whatever the hell she wants and I’ll be damned if I take that from her cuz I _feel_ like _feeling_!” He breathed hard, fingers wrapped tightly around the car’s wheel. “ _Our_ life, Sam… it ain’t worth jack-shit to regular people. They don’t know what we do, risking our hides so they can go on living in their small towns. I won’t involve any more people in my life than is absolutely God-damn necessary. Minimize the casualties. Got it?”

     “Yeah. Got it,” Sam said after a moment, his voice lowered. He slouched in his side of the car, glaring out the window. Dean huffed and rubbed his eyes before yanking the gearshift into reverse.

 

**Somewhere in South Dakota**

     If they had continued, they would’ve arrived in Wyoming after three in the morning. Dean had already been tired and Sam made him stop at a motel for the night. Exhausted, Dean barely put up a fight. Sam could see how stressed he was, from Jo and Minnesota, everything. And the worst part was that he had no idea how to help him.

     Dean was out cold at 11:32 before he fully had his pants off, lumped on the bed, arms hanging off it and looking the same as he’d had as a kid. Sam grinned slightly, exchanging his jeans for old pajama bottoms. He sat on the bed across from Dean’s, feeling the draw of sleep. But he was somehow wired, at the same time, as he looked at his brother’s sleeping form. He was so scared of hurting people. He was acting… well, like he always did, really, but Sam could tell it was hard for him, now more than ever because of what had almost happened the with the Vaewolves.

     Sam, resting on his back, turned onto his side to look out the window. He wished life could be simpler for them, that Dean could get the girl and accept it instead of pushing away the happiness he didn’t think he could ever get or deserve. But Sam knew that wasn’t what life’s cards had in store for either Winchester brother. He just wondered how long it would take for all of it to play out.


End file.
